Chapter 4
He drove deep into her, held a moment, pulled out, hesitated, feinted twice, and slammed it in once more, in up to the hilt. Vera gasped with delight as he drove to previously unplumbed depths.
And the goddam telephone would not stop ringing. He was tempted to take it off the hook and leave it dangling but Vera was panting and moaning and he had enough problems now without some son of a bitch ringing up and asking what time was the next free show. He drove deep into her again and Vera gave a joyous little quiver.
But she was frowning and he could tell the noise was getting to her too. Damn it! He needed to concentrate on his fucking. Why did everything and everybody in the world conspire to spoil things? He thrust again and -- shit! He had lost his hard-on. His cock bent and came out.
I'll strangle that son of a bitch, he decided as he grabbed the tip of his dwindling dick and forced it back into Vera's cunt. He guided it with his hand, thrusting slowly and carefully and finally managed to get it all the way into her again. But it was no good. He didn't dare pull out and thrust now or he'd never get it back in. She had come sliding and tumbling down the rocky slopes of Passion Peak and lay beneath him, frowning and squeezing her eyes shut at the telephone's incessant ringing. Rod sighed and picked it up.
"Yes," he said noncommittally. If this was free dancing lessons he was going to take it up with the chamber of commerce and the phone company.
"Rod?" It was a woman's voice.
"Yes." Suddenly he remembered how the organic matter had hit the fan that day he had been in the saddle and another candidate for phallipuncture twisted a key and walked into his apartment. That had been the day he resolved never ever to give another girl the key to his place.
And now he had his cock in Vera while another woman was on the phone, figuratively sticking it in his ear. "Rod, I've got to see you immediately. It's important."
"Yes," he said. Of all the god damn times! It was Rose, whom he always privately referred to as Rambling Rose, though luckily he had never slipped and said it to her face. Vera was still spindled on the dwindling remains of his hard-on. She didn't seem exactly happy. "I'm rather busy at the moment, Rod explained. He squeezed the phone tight to his ear, wondering if Vera had heard enough to know he was talking to another woman.
"Please, Rod, it's urgent. I've just got to see you."
"Look, if your sink is plugged up, just call a plumber and save the bill and I'll knock it off the rent."
Vera gave her ass a little wiggle and he had to struggle to keep his flaccid phallus from falling out of her well lubed love seat. She sat up and arched her neck to blow into his free ear -- and to try to hear what was going into his other ear, he supposed.
"But Rod, it's a matter of life and death. I've just got to see you. I'll be over in ten minutes."
Rod glanced hastily over Vera's blond head at the alarm clock. "Take your time," he said. "I was just leaving too. I'll be back sometime between ten and eleven."
"But Rod -- "
"Ten thirty," he said firmly and hung up before she could reply.
"You dirty old man!" Vera said, her face an odd mixture of pleasure and annoyance. "That was another of your girl friends, wasn't it?"
Rod had been fucking women for thirty years and knew the rules of the game. What would happen, if just once he were to say, "Yes, it is. She wants to come over here and flick for a while." But he knew better. Vera would not believe him but there was no use rubbing her face in it. "My banker," he lied. "Trying to swing a loan for some improvements in this building."
"Sure," Vera said ruefully. "And since he's your banker he won't need any of this so I'm going to have it all before I go." She got her arms and legs around his waist and began grinding her cunt frantically, tormenting his tired tool until he felt a slow return of desire.
"You diiiiiirrrrty old maaaaaaan!" Vera crooned as she felt his reviving rod begin to straighten out and fill the void between her long shapely legs.
It was hard to hold a grudge against any girl as single-mindedly devoted to fucking as Vera. He grinned and began cautiously to pull it out.
He didn't dare pull it out very far but at least he was fucking again, and not just hanging on frantically like some leather-clawing bronco buster atop a horse that was too much for him. Vera's smile forgave everything. He managed to forget about the telephone as slowly his cock came back to life and he strove to lose himself in the simple, sensual now of a good piece of ass.
Gradually, slow as an hour hand, his hard-on became functional and finally he was pouring it to her as enthusiastically as he had been before the phone rang. Phone rang. Phone rang -- damn! He had told Rambling Rose that he would be here at ten thirty. It was a quarter after nine. That didn't leave much time. Could he even manage to come?
Then, pouring his revived ramrod into Vera's eager snatch, Rod realized he really didn't have to. All he had to do was fuck the daylights out of this lovely willing blonde, give her a solid hour of poking and leave her crooning and drooling, drooping in happy exhausted satiation. By the time she had come twenty or thirty times her cunt would be so soppy he couldn't come anyway and all he had to do was a bugs bunny routine with a sudden ramslam, a couple of happy little snorts and squeals and how would she know whether he had ever come or not? She would be too happy to wonder about such minor details.
"Ooooohhh, you diiiirrrrty old maaaaaan!" Vera was crooning. Her lithe, flawless body was rising to meet his thrust, her ass slamming enthusiastically against his crotch with each stroke. She gave a sudden rasping croak like a startled chicken. Her smooth body stiffened galvanically, back arching as she strove to capture his cock and draw it deeper up her seething pussy.
Rod let her pull him in, welcoming the respite from the steady, metronomic thrusting that was beginning to pall. She held against him for a moment, her teeth gritting, her whole body as rigid as if his plug was feeding high voltage current into her socket. Then abruptly she gave a silly little giggle, gave her ass a feeble grind against his groin, and fell back with that vacuous smile common to those who have just had personal converse with their god and those who have just come explosively, devastatingly, and have experienced the joy that passeth all understanding.
Rod rested atop her while she sighed and moaned and kissed his ear and said 'thank you' in seventeen different dialects of body language. What the hell was Rambling Rose up to? She was in her early thirties, older than the happy blonde harpooned on his tool at this moment.
Rose was an experienced woman of the world who, after wearing out a couple of husbands with the housewife bit, had finally gone out and started selling real estate. Now she made more money than she really needed, did exactly as she damn pleased, and was a friendly, undemanding fuck whenever Rod felt in a mood to indulge his rod. He had the uneasy feeling that whatever his Rambling Rose needed, it was not going to be money or anything simple. Knowing Rose, he wouldn't be a bit surprised if she were to show up and demand his assistance in disposing of somebody's dead body.
Which reminded him that his hard-on was in danger of dying from old age. He roused himself from his languor and began pumping again before it could fold up completely.
"Aaaaaaahhhh!" Vera commented.
Working slowly and carefully, he began feeding her short, mincing strokes, barely pulling his graying crotch away from her vulva lest his treacherously limber dick betray him with an unexpected bend.
"Aaaaaaahhhhh!" Vera repeated in a low, sensual voice. That was what he liked about this lithe blonde. Her conversation was to the point, with neither hypocrisy nor obfuscation. But, Rod philosophized, by forty-five any man who's got his head screwed on straight has learned to run, not walk, for the nearest exit whenever a woman starts talking up a good fuck. He remembered that hot August day thirty years ago at the lake when he had walked there with the plump, clear skinned woman he had worshipped all summer.
Myrt had not intellectualized. She had hardly talked at all. Instead, she had merely asked him if he wanted to swim first or afterward. It was not her fault that in his fifteen-year-old eagerness he had thought for a moment that she was reading his mind. Not that it would be hard for any thirty-five-year-old woman with a build like the proverbial brick pagoda, with the most fantastically forward-pointing pair of jugs he had ever seen in that stone age of the uplift bra... how could any woman this side of a convent not know what went on in a healthy fifteen-year-old boy's mind, in his throbbing and inexperienced crotch every time he feasted his eyes on those lovely knockers?
But Myrt had merely pointed to the shopping bag and said, "Picnic." She had, either wisely or by accident, mitigated the knife twisting disappointment by slipping off her dress, affording him his first sight of her lovely, full fleshed thighs sticking out of the scratchy wool skirt of a one piece bathing suit. Giving him a particularly unladylike grin, she had said, "Last one in's a rotten egg." And before Rod could begin to unbutton his Levis Myrt had sprinted to the water's edge and dived in cleanly, making a very small splash for such a magnificently endowed girl.
Rod didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Everything was happening too fast. All this long hot summer he had fucked his fist while creating juvenile fantasies around the plump, clear skinned woman with the Mona Lisa smile. Now he was actually with her. She was clad only in a swim suit, had accompanied him alone to the lake and -- Somehow in all his erotic daydreaming Rod had never gotten around to working out the exact details of what came next.
Jesus! Men were supposed to know everything. Men were supposed to know secret words, secret ways and places to touch a girl which, according to the juvenile folklore he had absorbed, would instantly reduce a girl to hopeless uncontrollable passion. It was a part of every teenage boy's store of knowledge that there existed this arcane sexual karate. The only part he didn't know was, what were the blows?
"Aren't you coming in?" Myrt's head emerged from the water, sleek and seal-like as marcelled hair lay tight about her.
Rod struggled ineffectually with his Levis. Finally he managed to unfasten the belt and unbutton his fly. Sitting on the tiny beach, struggling to get his legs out of pants that suddenly conspired to hobble him, he felt an abrupt letdown.
It wasn't going to happen. Suddenly he realized what a fool he'd been. People didn't really fuck. All that bushwah about babies coming out of women's bellies was too outlandish to be real. He wasn't sure where they came from but at fifteen Rod knew a whopper when he saw it. How could anything as big as a baby actually come out of a hole as small as one would have to be if it were to nest between a woman's legs? He remembered ten years ago when he had gotten his only glimpse of old Antoinette's hairless six year old snatch pouting out like a pair of beestung lips. It was so tiny and tight that she had managed to pee farther than he could. No baby was ever going to come out of that hole. Nor was anything as big as the swollen, throbbing thumping troublemaker between his legs ever going to get into it. Heck, if he could just manage to rub it against her once Rod knew it would be enough to relieve him of the pulsating passionate load he carried.
"Hurry up, the water's fine," Myrt called.
Finally Rod had his Levis off. He peeled off his shirt and ran toward the water, wishing he could dive as cleanly as Myrt. Instead, he belly flopped, splashing half the lake up onto its banks. But the clear cool water at least disabused him of the shredded remnants of his sexual fantasy.
He had constructed an elaborate, erotic house of cards on flimsy evidence. He had invited a lonely, older woman to go swimming and she had accepted. That was all it meant -- she was going swimming with him. He surfaced and saw her wet face a dozen feet away, still wearing that inscrutable smile that had driven him mad with desire all this long hot summer.
She was smiling and happy. Suddenly Rod knew he would never dare spoil it all with any hint of something 'dirty'. How had he ever thought he could? If he had wisely refrained from hinting at anything with girls of his own age, knowing with dreadful dull certainty that they would immediately run and tell his mother, how could he dare broach such a delicate subject with a full grown woman closer to his mother's generation than his? Myrt was lovely, full-bodied and clear skinned, but he knew his temporary acceptance as an adult would abruptly terminate if he were to be anything less than the soul of propriety.
"Good, isn't it?" Myrt said, still favoring him with that maddening smile.
"Yeah," Rod gasped. He wondered why women went through the hell of marcelling their hair. With wet hair plastered sleek around her clear skinned, untroubled face, Myrt was even more attractive than she had been in the store. The water in the lake was' clear and cool -- shockingly so after the heat of that long since August day. And despite it all, staring at that sleek head smiling at him from a dozen feet away, Rod felt his cock once more starting to rise and. swell.
He put his feet down and discovered that she, who was his exact height, was standing on the bottom. She began float-walking toward him and he was overcome with sudden panic. If she were to bump into him and feel the great thumping bulge in the front of his swim suit it would be all over. She would emerge, put on her dress and go home and he would never be able to go to the store and look her in the face again.
She was only' a yard away now. Golly! She was coming closer. He. tried to retreat but she put out her arm and caught his hand.
"You know," she said conversationally, "The nicest thing about swimming is that nobody up there on the bank can see under water."